In Times Like These Boxed Set

by Nathan Van Coops

  “What do they want with you?” She dunks a chip into the salsa.

  “I don’t really know. I just know they tricked me into signing up for this thing and they aren’t going to let me out of it.”

  “Did you tell Dr. Quickly? What did Mym say?”

  “They thought I should try to beg out from the race committee, tell them I got conned. I planned on trying that, but when I got home, a guy was waiting in my kitchen with this.” I finger the bracelet, watching the seconds ticking down. “He wasn’t messing around. He made it pretty clear that I’m not getting out of it.”

  “He was from the race?”

  “I don’t even know. I feel so far over my head on this I can’t even tell you. I just know somebody wants me involved in this thing, and they’re not going to let up. Until I have more pieces of the puzzle, I just have to keep going. I wanted to tell you, though. I don’t know why they picked me, but they may target you guys, too. If you or Blake or Carson see anybody suspicious lurking around, you should blink out of there first and ask questions later. And watch out for anyone peddling flattering bullshit, though I’m probably the only one who falls for that.”

  “What are you going to do?” Francesca stretches a hand out to mine.

  “I need to find some help. I’m tired of feeling clueless. And I need to figure out how to race a chronothon, apparently.”

  “Are you going to find Dr. Quickly again?”

  “If I can. He’s the only ally I’ve got, unless Mym turns back up.”

  “She will.” Francesca pats my hand. “She has to recognize a good thing when she sees it.”

  After lunch, Francesca pulls up to the curb in front of the Saint Petersburg Temporal Studies Society and lets the engine idle. The low industrial building where Dr. Quickly began his research is nestled in an otherwise residential neighborhood. A chain link fence has been left open for a team of electrical workers who are making adjustments to a transformer from the top of their bucket truck. A few other workers are replacing glass on some of the windows. I’m puzzled by the activity until I realize it’s only been a couple days in ‘regular time’ since the accident that originally sent my friends and me back in time. They are still recovering from the damage.

  “You want me to come in with you?” Francesca asks.

  “I’ll just see if he’s in there and come back out. He may still not want us showing our faces in there.” I consider the glass doors of the building, remembering the last time we visited.

  “That was twenty-three years ago.” Francesca says. “And in a different timestream. There’s no way he would remember that conversation.”

  “I’m going to err on the side of caution anyway.” I climb out of the car and survey the building windows. Dr. Quickly vanished from this facility in the 1990s, but if I’m correct, there is still one man left inside who can help me.

  The young receptionist at the desk smiles at me as I enter the lobby.

  “Good afternoon, sir. How can we help you?” Her fingers are still poised over her keyboard.

  “I’m looking for Malcolm Longines. Is he in today?”

  The woman spins in her chair and snatches up the phone receiver. “Let me page him. May I tell him who’s inquiring?”

  “Benjamin Travers.”

  I linger near an aquarium and watch a sea snail inch itself along the glass until I hear the double-doors swing open behind me. The man standing in the doorway is dark-skinned and in his mid-fifties. His curved nose and serious expression haven’t changed since I saw him last, despite the aging. Dr. Quickly’s longtime assistant shows no sign of recognition.

  “Mr. Travers. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please follow me.”

  I trail him through the doors into an empty conference room just off the main hallway. He closes the door gently behind us and gestures me to a seat. He takes a seat opposite me, folding his hands over a manila envelope on the table.

  “Malcolm, I know you won’t remember me . . .” I begin. I look into his eyes, remembering the last day I saw him, police lights flashing in the street after I pulled him from a burning building.

  “I won’t,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “And please don’t feel the necessity of telling me the circumstances. That is not the role of a ‘constant.’”

  Constant Malcolm.

  “But while I may not be a time traveler, I am aware of who you are, and I’ve been advised to pass along this information.” He slides the manila envelope across the table.

  “You were? By whom?” I pick up the envelope, curious about what it may contain.

  “Please don’t open it here. It would be best if I didn’t know the contents. Miss Quickly left the package for you, and my instructions were to ask no further questions.”

  Mym. She did come back. I’m tempted to ignore him and tear into the package immediately, but I resist the urge. “Thank you, Malcolm. Now I owe you one.”

  Malcolm stands and holds open the door for me. “I’m sure I don’t know to what you are referring, but you are welcome.” A hint of a smile threatens to show itself on his face.

  I pause in the hallway. “If you see Mym again, will you pass a message along for me?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Tell her that I’ll be back, and I want to pick up where we left off.”

  Malcolm nods. “Is there any specific time period of Miss Quickly’s life that this message should be addressed to?”

  “All of it,” I say. “Tell her that applies to always.”

  Francesca eyes the package as I climb into the passenger seat. I shut the door and tear the end open, shaking the contents into my palm.

  “Somebody got you a watch?”

  The wristwatch in my hand is gold with a leather band. The accompanying photo shows it resting on a wooden table.

  “Somebody got me an anchor.” I hold up the photo. “Looks like I get to hang out with Abraham again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. I got to meet him in the early seventies. You’d like him.”

  Francesca pulls into the street and navigates her way back to my apartment. I fiddle with the watch in my hand. “Hey, Fresca?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure. What’s that?”

  “You know where I keep the spare key to my place, right?

  She nods.

  “Good. If anything happens, and I’m not saying it’s going to, but if anything does, will you let my folks know and, you know, my other friends? I’ve got all their numbers in my address book and my phone.”

  Francesca considers my face. “Is it going to be that dangerous?”

  I chew my cheek a little before responding. “No. I mean, I hope not. But it’s time travel, you know? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time . . . and this time, shit, I really have no clue.”

  “Then you pay attention to the people that do, and you stick with them, okay?” She pulls over outside my apartment and directs her attention to me. “Ben, in the last few weeks I’ve seen you do all kinds of things. None of which you could do the week before. I don’t know how we would have gotten home without you. I’m so glad we’re back, and it sucks that you aren’t able to be done yet, but let’s be honest, how long were you going to stick around with a chronometer on your wrist anyway? I know you, and going back to fixing boats wasn’t going to cut it anymore.”

  “Not like I have much of a choice now.”

  “I saw the way you looked at her, Ben. No marina job was going to keep you from running off the first time she winked at you.”

  “And look where that got me.” I shake the timer bracelet at her.

  “Then you know what? You go win that damn race. Bring Mym back a shiny medal. You know us girls, we love things that sparkle.” She smirks at me.

  I let myself smile back. “You ought to be a motivational speaker.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, I’m being serious. That helped. Really.”r />
  Francesca smiles. “Good. Because I meant it.”

  I reach across the armrest and give her a hug. “Tell Carson and the others I said hey. I’ll come hang with you as soon as I get back.”

  “You’d better.”

  I stand on the sidewalk till she pulls away, then wave.

  I take the steps to my apartment two at a time. There are no more surprise guests inside, though I check every room just to be sure. I collect every piece of clothing I own that has gravitites imbedded, since only those items will be able to make the trip, and realize I don’t have much to pack. Then I figure out I have no way to transport it anyway. I end up layering a couple of shirts underneath my leather jacket and add an extra pair of athletic shorts under my pants, before stuffing my pockets with my pocketknife, pen, Quickly’s journal, and Abe’s tool kit. I use Mym’s degravitizer to check the pencil that my visitor left me for gravitites. It still hasn’t been purged, so I stuff that and its location notes into my pocket as well. Next I check the watch. The green light on the degravitizer shines brightly, letting me know the anchor is gravitite-free and ready for use. Let’s see what you’ve got for me this time, Abe. I dial in my chronometer and touch my fingertips to the watch-face. The timer on my bracelet blinks forty-eight hours. Guess I’d better be a fast learner.

  I push the pin.

  <><><>

  The watch now lies on a table in a dining room, the like of which I’ve never seen. The wall behind the table is entirely glass and the view is an expansive valley rimmed with snowcapped mountains. I step toward the window. The few trees near the house strain for footing as the ground plummets away from them. I can see at least a thousand feet down the rocky mountainside before the forest repopulates the slope. My stomach turns and I return my gaze to the inside of the house. The sound of a shutting cupboard guides me around the corner into a kitchen where I find Abraham watching a teakettle. He looks comfortably dressed for the cold in a thick knit sweater and hiking boots. I notice he has two mugs on the counter.

  “You were expecting company?” I lean against the doorpost.

  Abraham grins as he faces me. “Anchors make for precise arrival times. Tea?”

  “Sure. That sounds great. Some place you’ve got here.”

  “It’s an old ski cabin that’s been significantly updated. You like it?”

  “If you don’t mind teetering on a precipice all day. Not sure I’d have had the courage to build it. I probably would have put mine in the valley.”

  “I enjoy the solitude. Eight months of the year the roads are impassable. Makes for a cozy retreat for an old watch-maker like me.” He pours a cup of hot water and hands it to me.

  “You guys are big on privacy.” I think about what Mym said regarding Dr. Quickly’s tunnels.

  “Perhaps if the world were a kinder place, we wouldn’t need to be.” He slides a plate with a selection of teas across the countertop. His smile is warm. He doesn’t look any older than the last time I saw him. He considers my face a moment. “When did you sleep last, Benjamin?”

  “Um, the 1960s, I guess.” I tear open a tea packet and dunk the bag into my water.

  “Hmm. You may want to look into that. You’re looking a bit ragged.” He hands me a spoon.

  “It’s been a long day. And I don’t seem to have much time.” I hold up my arm with the bracelet on it.

  “Yes. I had a suspicion you might not be getting out of that. We’re going to need to get you on your way shortly if we’re going to have any chance of getting you some training.”

  “You can train me?”

  Abraham shakes his head. “I’m not very knowledgeable about chronothons, but we’ve had some contact with someone who has.”

  “Really?”

  “Mym had Harry look up one of his buddies for you, Charlie Barnes. Charlie’s been through more than his share of adventures, including a few chronothons.”

  “You talked to Mym?” Everybody gets to talk to her but me.

  “She called earlier to let me know you’d be coming.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Hard to say. She called in on the T.P.T. so she could be anywhere.”

  “What’s a tee pee tee?” I blow across the top of my mug.

  “Tachyon Pulse Transmitter. It’s like a telephone for time travelers. I keep one here at the lodge. There are only a few in the world during this century, but the Quickly’s have one of the others. Comes in handy.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Abraham appears to be studying me. Finally he cocks his head to the side. “Are you wearing all of your clothes simultaneously?”

  “Yup.” I sip my tea and smile.

  “Thought so. Come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”

  He leads the way out of the kitchen and into a back den. The wooden bookshelves stuffed with knickknacks remind me of Quickly’s lab. Photos and anchors share space with what looks like a sizeable collection of classic literature. Many of the names on the spines are foreign to me, but reside next to titans like Twain and Tolkien and Kipling, making me wonder if they could be the revered authors of the future. An oak desk bathed in lamplight is cluttered with items I recognize: flashlight, canteen, compass, matches, and fishhooks. A coil of wire lies atop a battered copy of the Boy Scout Handbook.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d need so I tried to cover the basics.” Abraham surveys the desk. “One thing mountain cabins are good for, is being equipped for survival.”

  “Thank you. That’s awesome, but I didn’t bring anything to carry it all in.”

  “Got you covered.” Abraham reaches behind the desk, picks up a canvas messenger bag, and tosses it to me. “Go ahead and load up. You might be able to fit a few of your extra layers in there, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m supposed to get you to Charlie. From there, he should be able to sort the rest of the plan out. You should try to get some rest. I’m guessing you’re going to need it.”

  “Is Charlie nearby?”

  “No. I was told to take you to Ireland in 2016.”

  “Oh. That makes sense. That’s where it’s supposed to start.” I extract the slip of paper my visitor gave me and hand it to Abe. He considers the time coordinates.

  “This is right near the start. We’re going to get you there a little early and try to buy you some time.” He hands the paper back to me. “These folks don’t seem to want you to have much opportunity for preparation. Hardly seems sporting.”

  “I didn’t get the impression they were looking for me to succeed.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to change their minds for them. Help me with this other gear.” Abe points me to another set of canvas army duffels on the floor. One has a bunch of poles sticking out one end.

  “What’s all this?”

  “These are our accommodations for the evening. Hope you like camping.”

  We use a piece of stone Abe got from Charlie as the anchor for our jump. We arrive just after sundown on a flat boulder at the edge of a clearing. I shift the duffel strap on my shoulder and breathe in the fresh, damp air of the country. Abraham steps into the knee-high grass and strides toward the forest’s edge. He considers the trees, then takes in the view the opposite direction, a downward slope of pasture, and beyond a fieldstone wall, a small, quiet lake.

  “Right here will do.” The duffel falls from his shoulder with a thump. “Let’s get the tent set up and we can still enjoy some of this evening.”

  I help unload the duffels and am surprised to find how much Abraham has managed to pack. Besides the tent that looks big enough to walk around in, we have two aluminum and canvas cots, sleeping bags, lantern, portable cookware and camp chairs. There is even a pair of marshmallow skewers and a bag of marshmallows. Abraham grins when I hold up the bag.

  “I figured there’s no use wasting a night of perfectly good campfire weather.”

  By the time I have the tent and our cots situated, Abraham has a decent blaze going. I help him gather
more wood from the forest edge to pile near the fire, then settle into a camp chair beside him. The stars are out, and a steady croaking chorus is coming from the lake. The serenity of the scene seems a stark contrast to the pace of my past day and the relentless countdown occurring on my wrist. I turn the bracelet’s display away from my eye line and concentrate on Abraham stacking marshmallows onto his skewer. His puffs of gooey dessert are a toasty brown by the time he speaks.

  “I sometimes feel that this is where we find the meaning of the universe.” He holds the skewer up for inspection and watches the trio of marshmallows slide into one another.

  “At the end of a marshmallow poker?”

  “Seems as likely a place as any.” He slips one off the end and blows on it before popping it into his mouth.

  “I suppose it’s a reasonable analogy.” I pierce one of my own and dangle it over the fire. “Sometimes you get a treat, sometimes all your hopes go up in flames.”

  Abraham holds his remaining marshmallows lower in the fire and deliberately sets them ablaze before extracting them and blowing them out. “And sometimes what seems like disaster is actually the best treat of all.”

  We sit in the quiet for a while, soaking up the calm. I try my best to repress a yawn, but it gets the better of me and I let it out.

  “You should get some sleep, Ben.” Abraham brandishes his now empty marshmallow skewer. “I’ll defend us from the leprechauns.”

  “Probably a good idea.” I take a sip from my water bottle and retreat to the tent. I kick off my shoes but don’t bother to undress. I simply crash on top of my sleeping bag in a heap.

  Footprints disappear into the desert. A mustached man is holding a stuffed shrimp surrounded by elegant women. The Labrador wearing saddlebags keeps barking toward a doorway. I turn to look and an astronaut gets torn limb from limb by a dead-eyed, salivating mob. They’re snarling at me. I’m hovering just above the horde of savages as they claw and leap below. How long till they reach me? A voice is lingering in the background of my mind, calling out softly at first, then louder and louder. It’s calling my name, but I can’t answer. I try to choke out a response, but nothing comes. Something inside me has withered. My hands in front of me are pale, cold, stiff. I realize I’m dead, but there is something beyond that, a dread of something worse, lingering just out of sight. The something wants to hurt me. No, not hurt me; consume me. The voice yells louder. It’s my voice.